


nothing compares to you (nothing, nothing)

by StoriesofmyLife



Series: i just want your extra time (and your kiss) [1]
Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Boys Being Boys, Boys Kissing, Don't Ask Don't Tell, Don't Ask Don't Tell doesn't exist here, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Maverick and Ice are always endgame, Maverick loves to sing in bars lmao, Oops, Truth or Dare, any excuse to show off, non-beta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24350137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesofmyLife/pseuds/StoriesofmyLife
Summary: "How long have you two been doing this routine?"“We’ve only done this twice.”“How’d you do?”“Crashed and burned on the first.”*“Mav,” Goose says, hiccuping through another sip of beer, “let’s play a game.”Maverick raises an eyebrow, throwing back another shot that Cougar hands him, not even grimacing at the sharp taste of what he thinks is Vodka. He was never really a liquor guy, but today’s a special day and they’re celebrating, so why the hell not.or--An answer to the question of how Maverick crashed and burned the first time he ever tried to serenade someone.That someone being Ice(Edited and updated: 6/25/20)
Relationships: (briefly) - Relationship, Charlotte "Charlie" Blackwood/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Nick "Goose" Bradshaw & Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky & Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky & Ron "Slider" Kerner, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell
Series: i just want your extra time (and your kiss) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083806
Comments: 13
Kudos: 69





	nothing compares to you (nothing, nothing)

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Hi guys, a quick update: I did some quick editing and cleaned up a few mistakes here and there, but the reason I changed the publication date was because I did change the ending and added a little bit more towards the end. I didn't like the original ending, it felt too rushed and too open ended and I re-wrote it. I plan on, eventually, adding another installment to this, probably from Ice's POV, but before I did that, I wanted to rewrite the ending. 
> 
> If you don't feel like re-reading the entire work just read the new ending, that's totally okay, I just had to fix it for my own piece of mind :)
> 
> Thank you for the love on this work, it's one of my favorite pieces that I've written for this fandom and I'm glad it's been so well received :)
> 
> *
> 
> Hello! I found this in my documents and it's one of many TG stories that I've started and never finished, so I decided to give it a whirl. 
> 
> I came up with the idea for this fic during the O Club scene in TG, when Goose says "You must have carnal knowledge--of a lady this time." 
> 
> My over active imagination takes this as a sign that Maverick has tendencies to swing both ways when it comes to partners and no one will be able to change my mind. I also always wanted to know the back story of just how Maverick "crashed and burned" the first time he ever serenaded someone and thus, this baby was born. 
> 
> It's been a minute since I've posted anything in this fandom, I've been straying back into the Marvel universe lately, but I wanted to dip my toes back into the water and I'm really pleased with how this turned out and I hope you guys like it, too :)
> 
> Title and song are taken from Prince's "Nothing Compares 2 U" which, the history of this song is unclear, so I'm not sure if this song was even out when this story takes place, but oh well, they call it fiction for a reason :)
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes 
> 
> Enjoy!

_“The bet is twenty dollars. You must have carnal knowledge—of a lady this time, on the premises.”_

_“We’ve only done this twice.”_

_“How’d you do?”_

_“Crashed and burned on the first.”_

_*_

_1983_

The bar is loud, the _Eagles_ blasting from the jukebox in the corner and it’s packed with people—both enlisted and civilian and Maverick takes it all in with a grin on his face as he follows Goose to the bar. 

They’re celebrating, because as of today, they’re official graduates from Navy Flight School and Maverick is _officially_ a pilot.

The Academy took one look at his application, saw the last name and rejected him on the spot. They made him jump through hoops to get through the enlistment process, they scoffed when he wanted to go through OSC and they tried everything in their power to fail him. They didn’t want to approve him for Pre-Flight school and his instructor there told him that he’d be lucky if ever saw the cockpit of an F-14, _because the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And son, you’re family tree ain’t nothing to be proud of._

Maverick took every challenge and pushed himself to be the best, to fight the ghost that followed him like a shadow and prove to himself and everyone else along the way that he would be a pilot and he would be _the best._

And he was graduating Monday, with the rest of his class and he’d _finally_ have his wings. 

He’s riding on a high that no one can bring him down from; he can feel it thrumming through his veins, warm like the shots they down like water and chase with cold beer that soothes the burn of tequila. 

He feels _good_ and he’s heading past tipsy into drunk when Goose suddenly stops singing along to Carly Simon crooning about being vain and gives Maverick a wide grin. 

“Mav,” He says, hiccuping through another sip of beer. “Let’s play a game.”

Maverick raises an eyebrow, throwing back another shot that Cougar hands him, not even grimacing at the sharp taste of what he _thinks_ is Vodka. He was never really a liquor guy, but today’s a special day and they’re _celebrating,_ so why the hell not.

“What, like a drinking game?” He asks after the burn disappears, slamming the shot glass down on the bar and ignoring the grumpy look the bartender shoots him. 

“Kind of, but it’s more like a bet, right?” Goose says. “My buddies and I used to play it in college when we’d go out.”

Maverick raises an interested brow. “I’m listening.”

“Okay,” Goose says, sitting up excitedly from where he’d been leaning precariously on the bar. “So, you scan the room and pick someone and you have to guess a song they like, right?”

Maverick nods to show he’s listening, taking a sip of his beer. 

“Once you’ve done that, you have to try and pick them up with that song by serenading them. If you’re successful, drinks are on me, _however,_ ” Goose says, lowering his voice in a really bad attempt at suspense, “if you fail at your mission, you get to pay for all my drinks on top of whatever tab you’ve managed to rack up in the hour we’ve already been here.”

Maverick takes another sip of his beer, considering. “And if I choose not to take the bet?”

Goose rolls his eyes. “Like you would ever step down from a challenge—“

Maverick grins around his beer, because Goose makes a fair point. 

“— _but_ if you choose to turn me down, then I’m just going to assume you’re a gigantic pussy,” Goose continues, smirking at Maverick in challenge. “Since the offer of free drinks doesn't appeal to your senses then I guess, because it’s your first time, I’m willing to sweeten the deal even more.”

“Oh?” Maverick demands, “how so?”

“Twenty dollars and I’ll get Penny Benjamin’s number for you.”

Maverick holds out his beer bottle. “Deal.”

They clink glasses and Maverick scans the crowd, taking in his options, weighing the pros and cons of each person. He doesn't want to make it _too_ easy on himself, after all, like Goose said, Maverick loves a good challenge. But he also doesn't want to lose, because he’s not exactly made of money and they’ve been steadily racking up the bar tab since they’d been here and Penny Benjamin was _hot_ and he was only a man, okay?

Just as he’s considering a slim brunette with a pretty smile, a flash of blonde catches his attention from the corner of his eye and he turns his head to get a better look and all thoughts of the pretty brunette and Penny Benjamin go flying out the window. 

Now, Maverick tends to lean more towards women—see his appreciation of Penny Benjamin above— but it didn’t mean he was blind to everything or in this case, any _one_ —singular—around him. He was secure enough with who he was as a person to appreciate all types of beauty. He loved women—their soft curves, the way they laughed, the way they smelled, how they were typically smaller and more delicate, like they needed to be protected. They had a way of making him feel wanted and needed and he liked that, feeling like he was useful to someone. 

But sometimes, like in this case, a good looking guy would catch his attention and all thoughts of soft curves and breasts would leave his mind. He’d find himself craving harder bodies, stronger muscles and chiseled features. He was shorter than an average guy, so most guys were taller than he was and rather than being bothered by that, Maverick found that he _liked_ that. It was nice, sometimes, to be the smaller one, to feel large hands grip his wrists, his hips, push and pull and manhandle him into submission. Guys weren’t shy about what they wanted like women tended to be; they didn’t have to be coaxed and teased and fine tuned until they were ready for the main event. Guys weren’t afraid to be rough and hard and fast in getting what they wanted and sex like that made Maverick’s blood sing. It was always carnal in a way that sex with a woman wasn't and sometimes he craved that more than intimacy. 

And it had Maverick shifting on his barstool, thinking of all the ways this gorgeous guy could hold him down and use his body in whatever way he wanted. 

The beautiful stranger was tall, blonde and tanned—all broad shoulders and corded muscles that tapered down into a lean waist and a shapely ass that was only emphasized by tight jeans and it had Maverick’s mouth going dry. His ice blue eyes were shifting around the bar, like was looking for someone and it gave Maverick a chance to appraise the breathtaking beauty that was his face. 

His jaw was chiseled and he had cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, lips plush and pink and just begging to be kissed and they twitched into a smile when his eyes landed on whoever he was looking for. His nose was wide, but it fit his facial structure well, like it was sculpted by greek Gods. And his eyes were just so _blue,_ framed by pale blonde lashes that Maverick wanted to count individually if it meant he got to stare into those eyes longer. 

Those eyes skate to his and Maverick feels trapped by the weight of his stare. The guy flicks his eyes down Maverick’s form quickly, assessing and it makes heat curl low in his belly and a flush break out on his cheeks. 

The guy gives Maverick a small smirk before he looks away, sauntering over to the other side of the bar, where a taller guy wearing headphones around his neck is holding court with a few other guys and a couple of girls, who, Maverick can tell just by a quick glance over, are total sailor groupies looking to lay one of the men in uniform scattered around the bar.

Immediately one latches on to Maverick’s guy and it makes jealousy stab at Maverick’s gut, harsh and cold. 

“Huh,” He hears Goose say to himself. “I didn’t see _that_ one coming.”

Maverick doesn't think he’s supposed to hear it, but it makes him snort into his warm beer, grimacing at the taste of flat beer coating his tongue. 

“Well, it looks like you’ve acquired a target.” Goose says, slapping a hand on Maverick’s shoulder. “Tall, blonde and I’m secure enough to admit, handsome. Looks kind of like an asshole though.”

Maverick considers this as he waves the bartender over for another beer, keeping his eyes on the tall blonde as he completely ignores a rather busty bombshell of a redhead clinging to his arm and orders himself a drink. 

The bartender reaches for a bottle and while Maverick may not know much about alcohol, he knows enough to know that the stuff on the shelf behind the bar is the good stuff—expensive stuff that you get _maybe_ six ounces of for ten dollars a glass. He guesses vodka and he gets it on the rocks and Maverick can already feel the ice melt from here and he thinks that the guy just paid for a drink that’s going to be watered down in ten minutes if he doesn't drink it fast enough. 

Goose whistles next to him. “Stoli Elit, that shit ain’t cheap. Either that guy’s rich or he really wants someone to think he is.”

Maverick chuckles. “Maybe he just has good taste.”

“Yeah, expensive taste. That shit is fifty dollars a bottle, I had to buy some for Carole—her boss was from Russia and she got her for secret santa last year and that’s her favorite brand of vodka—“

Goose’s voice fades into the background as Maverick watches Mr. Tall-Blonde-And-I-Have-Expensive-Taste-in-Liqour takes careful sips of his drink, timed at almost five minutes a part and usually coincides with the start of a new song. 

He bobs his blonde head along to Bon Jovi, scrunches his nose up at _Wham!,_ mouths the words to Madonna when none of his friends are looking and considers his glass when the Temptations croon about not being too proud to beg. 

“My money is on Barry Manilow or something equally as refined being his favorite singer.” Goose says, slinging his arm over Maverick’s shoulders, making Maverick jump when the cool bottle of beer gets pressed into his chest. 

“Nah,” Maverick disagrees with a shake of his head. “He doesn't seem like the type to like _Mandy_.”

“Hey, I like _Mandy,”_ Goose says, affronted and Maverick snorts, sipping his beer. 

“Well, the clock’s a ticking Mav,” Goose reminds, tapping the bare skin of his wrist mockingly. 

Maverick rolls his eyes, but concedes, “Fine,” he stands up and chugs his beer, slamming the empty down on the wood of the bar. He takes a breath, squares his shoulders and gives Goose a smirk. “I think it’s time I show him how _nothing compares to him.”_

Goose groans, downing what’s left of his own beer. “ _C’mon_ Mav, no one knows _that_ song.”

Maverick just continues to smirk at Goose, raising a challenging eyebrow. “I expect victory shots when we get back.”

Goose rolls his eyes and leads him over to the small stage in the corner, conveniently located in the vicinity of his target. He finds a microphone laying wrapped up on the floor, right behind a speaker and Maverick tries to look as inconspicuous as possible when he leans down and plugs it into the amp, tapping it lightly with his fingers to make sure it’s on. 

Maverick grips the microphone, nodding to Goose and leads the way through throng of people, stopping right behind Mr. Frosted Tips, who has no idea what’s about to happen.

Maverick can feel the alcohol coursing through his veins and it’s what gives him the courage to reach out and tap the guy on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir,” Maverick says loudly, leaning in closer to make sure the guy hears him. He’s close enough that he can smell sweat and vodka and mint of his cologne and it makes his head spin in a good way. A very _good_ _way_.

The guy pauses mid sip, the glass hanging in limbo in between the bar and his lips and he flicks his gaze over his shoulder to see Maverick standing there, holding a microphone and his eyebrows tick up. 

He turns on the bar stool, giving Maverick the full force of those baby blues and it makes Maverick’s breathing hitch and momentarily forget why he’s standing there in the first place. 

The guy raises a blonde eyebrow. “Can I help you?” 

His voice is as cool as the melting ice in his glass and it makes Maverick shiver. His gaze is impassive, but Maverick can see the curiosity lurking underneath it and it makes him grin, confident. 

“Has anyone ever told you,” Maverick says, voice low, forcing the guy to lean closer so he can hear him over the laughter and conversation, “that nothing compares to you?”

His cool gaze doesn't change, but Maverick sees his lips twitch in amusement. “Excuse me?”

Before Maverick can repeat himself, Goose wraps an arm around Maverick, giving the guy an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, man, my friend here is drunk, I’ll get him out of your hair—“

“ _It’s been seven hours and thirteen days since you took your love away,”_ Maverick croons into the microphone, drawing the attention of the entire bar, but his focus on the guy sitting in front of him, who’s watching him with that same indifferent gaze. 

“ _I go out every night and sleep all day since you took your love away_ ,” Maverick continues, getting more into it, swaying his body back and forth to a tempo only he can hear and Goose joins in with an arm around his shoulder, snapping his fingers off beat, but it’s the thought that counts. “ _Since you’ve been gone I can do whatever I want, I can see whomever I choose—“_

The guy with the headphones around his neck stands up, frowning in annoyance but Mr. Blue Eyes throws out a hand to stop him, keeping his eyes on Maverick the entire time and Maverick shoots him a grin in return.

“— _I can eat my dinner in fancy restaurants, but nothing, I said nothing, can take away these blues_ , ‘ _cause nothing compares,”_ Maverick sings, trying hard to keep his voice on key, throwing an arm out, dramatic finger point and all as he reaches the climax of the chorus, “ _no nothing compares to you, nothing, nothing.”_

The guys gaze doesn't change and it makes Maverick even more determined to make the guy smile and crack his cool facade. He throws all he has in the next verse, his fellow Navy men joining in with him and they all sway drunkenly to Maverick’s off key warbling and Goose’s off beat snapping. 

The guy just continues to watch like one would a car wreck—a mixture of trepidation and a morbid fascination. Even the guy’s buddy joins in after a few more bars and it gives Maverick hope as he leads them into the bridge. 

He falls to his knees in a dramatic display, ignoring the pain that shoots through his knees when they meet the hard, sticky floor of the bar and he closes his eyes as he sings, “ _I know that living with you baby was sometimes hard, but I’m willing to give it another try.”_

He peeks one of his eye open to see the guy still staring at him and it’s still not what he wants to see, so he goes back to both eyes closed and belts out the final few lines, “‘ _Cause nothing compares, no nothing compares to you, I said nothing compares, nothing compares to you.”_

He finishes the song with a flourish that has the entire bar whooping and clapping. Maverick is still on his knees and he looks up at the guy from underneath his lashes, holding his hand out in offering and after a moment of hesitation, the guy cracks a smile and takes Maverick’s hand. 

Maverick grins in victory and lets himself be pulled up by the large and warm hand. His heart his racing, his blood is pumping and he feels almost dizzy and he knows it has nothing to do with the alcohol. 

Making this guy smile gives Maverick the same feeling flying does—a heady rush of adrenalin and freedom, chased with utter elation and happiness and it’s threatening to burst inside his chest. 

“You use that song and dance on everybody?” The guy asks with raised eyebrow. 

“No, you’re my first,” Maverick admits with a sheepish grin. “How’d I do?”

The guy considers him, flickering his gaze down Maverick’s body like he did earlier and, like earlier, it makes a shiver of _want_ slide down Maverick’s spine. 

“Not bad,” The guy says after a moment. “A little pitchy in some places, but you made up for it with your enthusiasm.”

Maverick grins, smooth and easy, leaning in close enough to feel the heat coming off Mr. Tall, Blonde and Handsome’s body. “So does that mean I’ve earned you buying me a drink?”

The guy smirks right back at Maverick, blue eyes glittering. “I think,” he says slowly, voice low and it makes Maverick’s belly heat, “that you’re a little too confident for you’re own good.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve been told that,” Maverick admits, completely unabashed and the guy chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that makes Maverick shiver. 

“And as much as I enjoyed your little performance, I’m not much of a _Prince_ fan,” The guy continues and Maverick has a sinking feeling in his gut. “So, I don’t think it would be in my best interest to buy someone, who holds Prince in such high regard that they’re willing to serenade a stranger in a bar with one of his songs, a drink.”

His voice is a mixture of apologetic and dismissive and it’s such an odd combination that it pulls Maverick up short. 

“I’m not that big of a _Prince_ fan,” is all he can think to say and the guys full pink lips stretch into a smirk, straight white teeth gleaming under the bar lights, and Maverick mentally mourns the loss of being able to feel those lips against his own. 

“Well, maybe one day you’ll change your mind,” Maverick says and he’d be embarrassed at how hopeful his voice sounds if we wasn't being rejected outright, in front of God and everyone in this bar. 

“Maybe,” The guy allows, smirk gentling into something soft around the edges and despite Maverick having to go back to Goose, admit defeat and pay a bar tab that’s well over a hundred dollars by now, it makes him feel like he won something anyway. 

The guy turns back to his friends and Maverick tries not to look _too_ disappointed when he sits down on the empty barstool next to Goose, who offers him a consolatory pat on the shoulder and a shot of tequila before he slides the black booklet over with the total of both their tabs inside it. 

“You’ll get ‘em next time, Mav,” Goose says confidently into his beer and Maverick is tempted to tap the bottom of it so he spills it all over himself and his dress whites. 

“I’m never doing this again,” Maverick says as he digs out his wallet with a wince.

*

_1986_

The O Club is packed with their fellow classmates and Navymen and Maverick can’t help but grin as he takes in the new environment. It’s the same as every bar that’s close to base—a bunch of enlisted men trying to hit on anything that moves and civilian women looking to catch the eye of a sailor. 

But this is different because they’re _here_ , at _Top Gun._ Training with the best of the best, the top one percent of pilots that make it into the program and he’s not sure he’s been this happy since graduating flight school. 

He shares a look with Goose and he knows they’re both thinking the same thing— _is this for real?—_ before they make their way to the bar and order a beer. They survey their classmates and marvel at the fact that they’re _here_ , this is _real_ and they earned it and _no one_ was going to take that away from them. 

Maverick’s sipping his beer when the bartender sets another drink down in front of him—a rocks glass filled with ice and vodka, judging by the sharp, chemical smell. 

“I didn’t order this,” Maverick says, sliding the glass back to the bartender. He saw him pour it and he knows it’s not the cheap stuff, because he pulled it from the shelf behind the bar and he’s not paying ten dollars for a shot of vodka poured over ice.

“The gentlemen at the other end of the bar ordered it for you,” The bartender informs him, pushing the glass back across the bar before he leaves, going to help another customer. 

“Unbelievable,” Goose scoffs. “We’ve been in here for five minutes and you’ve already managed to get someone to buy you a drink. And you didn’t even have to embarrass yourself this time.”

Maverick rolls his eyes, taking a hesitant sip of the vodka and he’s pleasantly surprised at the smoothness of it, the ice cutting the usual burn and it glides easily down his throat, making his face warm and his belly heat. It’s not his preferred drink—he’s fine with his usual Budweiser or if he’s feeling froggy, a Jack and Coke—but it’s not _bad_ , either. The chemical taste isn't as pronounced like it is in cheaper brands and he finds that he kind of _likes_ it. 

It tugs at something in his memory—the smell of vodka mixed with sweat and mint. A crowded bar, a Prince song that he makes sure to skip over when it comes on the radio, his cheeks burning in embarrassment every time he hears it. 

Maverick feels the weight of a stare on the side of his face, his skin prickling with awareness and when he meets icy blue eyes that have haunted his dreams ever since graduation, he nearly chokes on the expensive vodka. 

Goose follows his gaze. “If you want to know who the best is Mav, you’re looking at it. That’s _the_ Iceman and he’s ice cold, no mistakes up there. He’s going to be the one to beat.”

Maverick remembers the cool indifference and impassive gaze and he finds himself thinking that it _fits._

Now, however, there’s a knowing gleam in those ice blue eyes as they watch Maverick slowly sip from the rocks glass and just like last time, it sends a frisson of heat down his spine and _wan_ t curls low, _dangerous_ , in his belly. 

“Son of a bitch,” Maverick mutters. 

The guy— _Iceman—_ smirks, bright white teeth gleaming almost _mockingly_ in the low lighting of the bar. Maverick gets one more flash of those blue eyes before they get hidden by a dark pair of aviators and Iceman’s attention gets diverted by someone else—a _female_ , someone else. 

Maverick watches, grip tightening on the warming glass of Stoli’s, as a blonde slithers her way through the crowd and wraps a long fingered grip around Iceman’s bicep. She shoots him a secretive, red lipped smile and he smirks back down at her, plush lips curling in a way Maverick decides he _doesn’t_ like. 

“Hey, Mav,” Goose says, pulling Maverick’s attention away from Iceman and the blonde teasing her red painted nails along the inside of his elbow, just to be met with Goose, grinning at Maverick knowingly from around his beer bottle. “Wanna play a game?”

Goose eyes flicker over to Iceman and his blonde, before he turns his gaze back to Maverick. There’s a sly smirk on his friend’s lips that Maverick knows all too well. 

And this time, Maverick doesn't even have to think about it. 

Downing the rest of the Stoli's in one gulp and chasing it down with his now warm beer for good measure, he slams the empty back down on bar, ignoring the dirty look the bartender throws him. 

“What’s the bet?”

Goose grins. 

“Okay so—the bet is twenty dollars. You must have carnal knowledge— _of a lady this time—“_

*

_“Baby, baby, I get down on my knees for you—“_

Maverick’s grin is a mile wide as the bathroom door swings shut behind him and he makes his way over to the sink. His hands shake from the adrenalin pumping through his veins as he runs them under the cool water coming from the running faucet. 

Charlie had been a lot easier target than he anticipated and she’d taken his serenading with a barely hidden smile and a roll of her eyes. She was pretty—curly blonde hair, full lips, cute nose, intelligent blue eyes—and older, which was Maverick’s preference when it came to women, because they were usually more of a challenge than women Maverick’s age and Maverick _loves_ a good challenge. 

And maybe, if he wasn’t more concerned about catching _another_ challenging blonde’s attention, Maverick would’ve taken her up on her silent offer for a quick _rendezvous_ and followed her into the ladies room. 

Instead, feeling that familiar weighted stare, even through dark tinted sunglasses, Maverick sauntered into the men’s room with a feeling of _mission accomplished_ buzzing under his skin as he waited. 

_Three,_ Maverick counts silently, _two—_

The bathroom door swings open, letting in the sounds of laughter and music and the clinking of glasses for a brief moment before it swings shut with an ominous _snick._

Maverick grins down at his soapy hands. 

_One_

He can hear the catch of the lock, confident footsteps on the linoleum, feel that weighted stare that makes the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with awareness, the _swoop_ his belly gives at being under said stare. 

But Maverick ignores it, taking his time, ensuring ultimate cleanliness by going through the birthday song not once, but _twice,_ just to be The Worst _,_ before he rinses his hands in the now tepid water. Maverick reaches for paper towels, but a strong, tanned hand is already there, grabbing them for him, offering them to Maverick silently between two long, _capable_ fingers that Maverick tries not to think about.

Maverick meets ice blue eyes in the mirror and smirks, taking the proffered paper towels from Iceman with a silent nod of appreciation. 

He takes his time with this task, too—drying each individual finger, the skin between them, swiping over each palm five times—and it’s worth it when he glances up in the mirror and sees that strong, angular jaw clench in barely hidden annoyance. 

Maverick leans against the counter, facing Iceman, when he’s done and gives him an easy smile, cocking a challenging eyebrow. 

_You first,_ he thinks, but doesn't say.

“So,” Iceman says, leaning up against an empty stall, crossing his strong arms causally across his chest. “You _do_ use that song and dance on everyone.”

Despite the nonchalant way he says it, Maverick can hear the edge of accusation in his tone and it makes Maverick grin.

“Nah,” Maverick says with a smirk. “Gotta change the song up every now and then, keep the audience interested.”

Iceman hums, eyes glittering in a way that Maverick can only describe as _dangerous._ “And were they? Interested?”

Maverick shrugs in a _whatta yah gonna do?_ type of way. “What can I say? At least _someone_ enjoyed my performance.” He can’t stop the petulance from creeping into his voice if he tries, but it makes Iceman laugh, a soft huff of air leaving his luscious lips and Maverick considers it a fair trade. 

“I never said I didn’t enjoy it.” Ice counters, taking a predatory step towards Maverick, eyes gleaming in a way that makes Maverick swallow heavily, grip tightening on the counter behind him. “Still pitchy in some places, but effort was still good, the background vocals were strong and your song choice was better,” Ice continues, “well, better than _Prince_ , at least.” He adds with a shrug of his strong shoulders. 

Ice’s blue eyes are twinkling mischievously down at Maverick and he’s so close that Maverick can smell salt from his sweat, mint from the soap he must use and the sharp scent of vodka on his warm breath. Ice is warm, so warm, a total juxtaposition from his callsign that it makes Maverick smile in amusement. 

Maverick hums in acknowledgment, “Well, not everyone likes Prince or at least, that’s what I’m told.” 

Ice’s eyes are warm sapphire when he says, “I don’t know, I like a few of his songs—” another casual shrug of those shoulders— _god,_ those _shoulders,_ Maverick thinks appreciatively, “—especially one in particular.” He murmurs, like they’re sharing a secret and in a way, they are. 

“Oh yeah?” Maverick whispers back, a grin dancing on his lips. “And which one is that?”

“I’m not sure,” Ice returns, eyes gleaming, lips smirking, “hum a few bars and maybe it’ll come back to me.”

Maverick laughs, soft and breathy, licking his lips, heart fluttering wildly when Ice’s eyes track the movement. 

“Hmm,” Maverick hums, tilting his head in mock consideration. “Purple Rain? You know— _purple rain, purple rain, I only wanted to see you underneath the purple rain—“_

“No,” Ice murmurs, shaking his head, “not that one.”

“No? Huh, okay, well what about—oh, I know! _Kiss_ , right? _You don’t have to be cool, to rule my world, I just want your extra time and your—“_

“As much as I would _love_ to hear you finish that lyric,” Ice interrupts, pressing closer, pupils dilating, eyes darkening, “I don’t think that’s the one, either.”

Maverick swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing and Ice grins, sharp, eyes promising. 

“Would it help,” Ice murmurs, voice low, pressing even _closer,_ trapping Maverick’s body between the counter and Ice’s strong, warm body, “if I sang it with you?”

Maverick nods dumbly and Ice’s answering grin is down right _filthy._

_“It’s been seven hours and thirteen days since you took your love away,”_ Ice croons, voice a low baritone that’s warm and raspy, smooth like expensive whiskey and it just _figures_ that the guy could sing, on top of everything else. _So_ unfair.

“ _I go out every night and sleep all day since you took your love away_ ,” Maverick joins in, voice breathless and shaky and while it’s nowhere _near_ the calibre of Ice’s voice—which is actually _pleasant,_ the total opposite of Maverick’s—it still makes Ice’s smirk soften at the edges into a smile so breathtaking, Maverick is momentarily rendered speechless at the sight of it. 

“ _Since you’ve been gone I can do whatever I want, I can see whomever I choose—“_

“— _I can eat my dinner in fancy restaurants, but nothing, I said nothing, can take away these blues_ , ‘ _cause nothing compares—“_

“— _no nothing compares to you, nothing, nothing.”_ They finish together, and Maverick grins, bright and unbridled and Ice smiles right back, eyes warm and fond. 

“That’s the one,” Ice confirms, blue eyes twinkling and it makes Maverick feel warm all over. 

“You know,” Maverick says casually, “I sang that to someone, once.”

Ice raises an eyebrow, humming in interest, “Oh yeah? How’d that go?”

“Crashed and burned on the first try,” Maverick says with a rueful smile and another, _whatta yah gonna do?_ shrug. 

Ice hums again, resting his strong hands on Maverick’s hips, pulling their bodies closer, pressed so close together Maverick can’t tell where he starts and Ice ends. 

“And the second time?” Ice murmurs, warm breath ghosting over Maverick’s lips in a tantalizing caress and it makes Maverick tilt his chin, just so, a silent challenge and offering. 

“I’m not sure,” Maverick admits, voice barely above a whisper, heart hammering in his chest. He flickers his gaze down to Ice’s lips before he meets those rapidly darkening blue eyes and adds with a slow smirk, “but it’s looking pretty promising.”

Ice chuckles, a low, rough sound that makes Maverick shiver and then they’re kissing, lips tangling together and it’s hot and wet and messy, in the _best_ way and it’s everything Maverick thought it would be, even if it is a few years later than he’d of liked it to be. 

Ice kisses like Goose said he flies—precise, fierce, confident and it makes Maverick hunger for _more._ More skin, more touching, more time to do everything he wants to do and even _that_ feels like it’s not enough, like no amount of time Maverick could be allowed would be enough to get his fill of _this_ —the hunger gnawing away at his gut, the heat in his belly, the desire in his veins, the feeling of Ice’s lips on his, Ice’s hands gripping his waist, Ice’s hips pressing him into the counter in a way that’s almost painful but Maverick’s beyond caring at this point. 

They’re both hard, Maverick can feel the press of Ice’s erection through the material of their slacks and Maverick wants to feel it, chase the friction, know what it’s like to see Ice fall apart beneath him, lose the control he can feel holding Ice back from just _taking_ Maverick, right here, on this counter, in this bathroom, in this bar, where anyone could walk past and hear them. 

Ice pulls away and Maverick chases him, not ready to give this up, not yet, not when he just got know what it feels like to be kissed by those lips he’s been dreaming about for _three goddamn years_ —

“Easy, Mave _rick,”_ Ice murmurs, and Maverick isn’t the _least_ bit surprised that Ice somehow managed to find out his name. 

Ice places a soothing kiss to the corner of Maverick’s lips, the tip of his nose and it’s so sweet and the total opposite of the heated exchange that it makes Maverick head spin wildly.

“Not here, wanna take my time with you,” Ice breathes, the admission tickling Maverick’s cheek, “is that okay?”

Ice is biting his lip, blue eyes oddly vulnerable and it’s such a drastic change from the earlier confidence, the cool assuredness that seemed to ooze from every pore of the pilot and it makes Maverick want to laugh stupidly. 

“I know that I might’ve wounded your ego, the first time,” Ice says, blue eyes apologetic, teeth chewing nervously at his bottom lip in a way that Maverick is finding _very_ distracting, “but I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

Maverick can tell that there’s a story there and maybe, when they know each a little bit more ah, _intimately,_ Ice will tell him, but for now, Maverick will settle for what Ice is offering, _more_ than happily. 

“Is this you changing your mind?” Maverick asks, a teasing smile dancing on his lips.

“Maybe,” Ice allows, eyes twinkling with the memory, that familiar smirk soft at the edges in a way that’s an echo of three years ago, in a different bar, under different circumstances. 

“Then I’m sure you can find a way to make it up to me,” Maverick murmurs mischievously, wrapping his arms around Ice’s neck. 

“As long as it doesn't involve singing a Prince song in a bar full of people, I’m all ears.” Ice says, nuzzling his nose against Maverick’s in an eskimo kiss that makes Maverick feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

“Nah,” Maverick says, grinning up at Ice suggestively. “I’m more interested in a private show.”

Ice laughs, a low, rumbling sound that sends a pleasant shiver down Maverick’s spine and a pool of liquid fire into his lower belly. 

“A private show, huh?” Ice murmurs and at Maverick’s firm nod, he hums, pressing his body closer, letting Maverick feel just want he thinks of that idea and _god_ , does Maverick feel _it—_

“I guess I can do that.” Ice agrees with a smirk before pressing another kiss to Maverick’s lips. 

*

Goose is still sitting at the bar when Maverick and Ice manage to stumble out of the bathroom and he takes one look at them—their slightly disheveled appearances, the matching satisfied grins, the telltale flush on their cheeks—and shoots Maverick a look that’s an appropriate mix of reproach and brotherly pride, which seems to be his default setting when it comes to Maverick.

Ice disappears to find Slider to let him know he’s leaving— and he makes sure to tell Maverick by leaning down close enough for his lips to brush across the skin of Maverick’s cheek, his warm breath caressing the outer shell of Maverick’s ear. It sends heat racing down Maverick’s spine, flickering through his veins, igniting a fire that will only be extinguished by getting the hell out of this crowded bar and finding the nearest horizontal surface available. A bed, a counter, a table—as long as it’s Ice’s body that traps him against it, Maverick could care less where they ended up. 

Maverick knows they’re thinking along the same wave length when he catches the knowing smile on Ice’s lips before he departs from Maverick’s side and across the bar. 

“Seriously?” Goose demands when Ice is out of earshot. “The bathroom?”

He sounds like he’s torn between disgust and pride, and when Maverick manages to pull his eyes from Ice’s ass and actually make eye contact with Goose, he can’t help the amused grin that tugs at his lips when he sees the same emotions jockeying for dominance over Goose’s features. 

Maverick shrugs, grinning around his mouthful of peanuts, all smug and self-satisfied. “Don’t ask.”

Goose wrinkles his nose in a way that reminds Maverick of Bradley when he tried broccoli for the first time. “Please, don’t tell me.”

Ice appears at Maverick’s side. “Ready to go?”

Maverick smirks. “Lead the way.”

Ice grins, sharp, predatory, blue eyes gleaming under the low lights of the bar and Maverick acknowledges to himself that he could spend forever staring into those eyes and be fully satisfied with such an existence. 

Maverick shoots Goose a grin, popping another peanut into his mouth. “You owe me a hundred dollar bar tab.” Goose sputters into his beer and Maverick pats him on the shoulder with another smug grin. “Don’t wait up for me, honey.”

The look Goose shoots Maverick could be considered intimidating, but the effect is ruined by beer still dribbling down his chin that he’s trying, in vain, to mop up. 

Ice shoots him a curious look, looking between Goose and Maverick with a raised eyebrow. “What’s that about?”

Maverick merely smiles, tugging Ice towards the exit. “One day, I’ll tell you, but for now,” Maverick pauses when they reach his bike. Scanning the empty parking lot and deeming it safe, he pulls Ice close enough to feel the heat of his body, taste the mint of Ice’s breath as it ghosts over his lips and continues, voice low, a secret only they can hear, “I do believe you promised me a private show.”

The smile Ice gives him is down right filthy and it makes Maverick really dread the ride back to base because riding a bike with an erection is _the worst._

“That I did,” Ice murmurs, lips brushing teasingly against Maverick’s. “And maybe,” Ice continues when they part, “if you’re lucky, I’ll give you a encore. Or two.”

His voice is low, rumbling and full of promise and Maverick thinks he’d follow Ice anywhere—the fires of hell, off a cliff, out of a plane with no parachute, just as long as Ice kept talking like that. 

“Well,” Maverick says, albeit breathlessly, “what are we waiting for? Let’s get this show on the road.”

Ice chuckles, quick and just as breathless and then Ice kisses him, slow, soft, sexy and it makes Maverick’s head spin and his toes curl and he can’t believe he waited three fucking years for this but now he’s here and Ice is kissing him and _yeah,_ Maverick thinks, _nothing, not even flying, compares to_ ** _this._**

(And later, when they lay together, sweat and satiated, tangled in Ice’s sheets, Maverick’s ear resting over Ice’s racing heart, he’ll correct himself and think, no, nothing compares to **_this._** _Not one damn thing)._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked it :) reviews are appreciated :)


End file.
